Nights that glitter gold
by Delenn
Summary: Nobody throws a ball like the Almesians, as the saying goes. The nights stretch for days, the days melt back to nights, and they are racing through their eleventh waltz.


**Pairing: River/Eleven**

**Rated: M**

**Summary: Nobody throws a ball like the Almesians, as the saying goes. The nights stretch for days, the days melt back to nights, and they are racing through their eleventh waltz. **

**Written: 9/25/13-1/13/14 Thanks to Becs and Megs for everything, as always! Half of this came right together, and then other bits took ages. I hope the final product justifies all the fiddling I did with it.**

**Further, this is very much for mature audiences due to mature content - this is your warning.**

* * *

The Prince of Almesia invites them to the celebratory end-of-the-world ball - something of a less somber affair, since the world is no longer actually ending. The Doctor almost declines - he hates to linger - but then he remembers that the Almesians have quite a fantastical waltz.

River's eyes light up when he agrees and, as the Doctor escorts her into the ballroom on his arm - both of them perhaps just slightly singed but still in their formal attire from their original dinner date - he decides her smile alone is worth his agreement.

The waltz is fast. The Doctor tugs River into him and hastily spins her out onto the floor, relishing her smooth curves and strong grip.

They follow the steps easily, spinning across the room in ever more elaborate maneuvers. River laughs softly, pressed indecently close, lips brushing his ear as she whispers increasingly naughty suggestions in an attempt to trip him up.

The Doctor tugs her closer. "What's the matter, dear? Having trouble keeping up?"

"Never."

And then they're waltzing off again, though they may now be a century or two out of sync with this particular crowd. Actually, the Doctor has all but forgotten that there is a crowd, or anyone except River, really, until he spins River out for the end of the second - third? - waltz and accidentally into some Almesian dignitary.

The Doctor catches her around the waist as she stumbles, a bit cross and smug at the same time. River makes their apologies gracefully, if a bit breathlessly, while the Doctor tries not to stare at her or blush. He suspects he fails at both, but he can hardly be blamed. River is glowing from the exertion, her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, skin glistening, and bosom heaving in her low bodice.

"Not to worry, Ambassador. I think we'll sit this one out." River leans into him as she steers them away - toward the refreshments - and the Doctor hums happily as he nods his agreement.

The Doctor loves dancing with River - he would dance with her anywhere - but they do tend to draw something of a crowd. A crowd that doesn't always appreciate their unique - style. His dancing is always terribly underappreciated.

As always, River is either oblivious or uncaring - he suspects the latter - as she sips from the variety of wines available. The Doctor selects a sweet fizzy drink that is a kaleidoscope of pink and green. River wrinkles her nose at him and selects a hefty glass of wine. "My husband, the eternal child."

But she's smiling. The Doctor grins back unrepentantly. "And what does that make you, wife?"

"Mad?" River offers, one eyebrow quirked.

"Oh, undoubtedly."

...

Nobody throws a ball like the Almesians, as the saying goes. The nights stretch for days, the days melt back to nights, and they are racing through their eleventh waltz.

River leans back in his arms, her weight balanced precariously against his own as she laughs and urges him faster. The third time they bump into the same ambassador, the Doctor steers them toward one of the elaborate hallways, rambling something about a 30,000 year old vase River really must see and dragging her along before the ambassador notices which way they've gone.

"If you're luring me from the party for another gorgeous ancient vase with 'yowza!' graffitied across it, I swear -"

The Doctor shushes her with a kiss as soon as they are out of sight of the main hall. River makes a surprised noise as he presses her back into the wall, but she melts against him with familiar, welcoming ease.

When they part for air, the Doctor rests his forehead against River's, his hands somehow buried in her hair. River smiles up at him, soft, her hands tracing the buttons of his waistcoat playfully. "What was that for?"

"I've wanted to do this all night," and he swoops back in, kissing her and relishing River's sharp, wine-tinged taste blooming against his tongue.

River laughs. "You taste like candy corn," but her mouth finds its way back to his before the Doctor can reply, and he thinks that she's not really complaining at all.

Their hands are roaming now. He traces the seams of her bodice while River's hands tug at his jacket, sweeping out as she pulls it off.

The crack of porcelain on marble echoes resoundingly and they break apart, fighting to catch their breaths and bearings.

The 30,000 year old vase lies shattered at their feet. River eyes it with an archaeologist's regret, while the Doctor marvels that it wasn't him knocking over priceless artifacts for once. If he gets all the pieces scooped up, the sonic just might - but there are voices echoing down the hall.

When she bends down to run her fingers across the fine shards they turn to powder at her touch, and River huffs, "Don't you say one word, Doctor."

But he just tugs on her hand and bustles them through the first unlocked door he can find - why must they always be wood in places like this? As soon as he has the lock secured, the Doctor spins River back into the door, crowding her. "Not even that you're beautiful when you're embarrassed?"

River blushes, giggling. "Oh, stop it."

His wife hasn't giggled since her university days, and even then it was a rare treat. Delighted but suddenly suspicious, the Doctor pulls back. "How much wine have you had?"

Wiggling suggestively around him and surveying the room, River's eyes light up. "Why, were you planning on taking advantage of me?" She sits gracefully on the edge of what the Doctor belatedly realizes is the centerpiece of the room - a stunning, gilded bed. "Naughty, Doctor."

"You, River Song, are never at a disadvantage," the Doctor manages as his gaze sweeps over her.

Her hair has come undone from his hands, glowing against the golden backdrop and the stark outline of her blackened gown. There's a streak of soot under her chin. River lowers her lashes and scoots back on the bed, toeing off her heels, and the Doctor is drawn toward her as a moth to the flame - a supplicant to his goddess. She is stunning.

His mind swims with visions of her spayed out against the golden bedspread, flecks of gold dancing across her skin. The Doctor discards his jacket and shoes hastily, kneeling on the bed before River, his hands already sneaking under her tulle skirts without his permission.

Thankfully, River doesn't mind, if the positively indecent moan she lets out is any indication. "Shh," the Doctor murmurs, sliding up to rest at River's side and brush kisses across her throat. She tastes of gunpowder and wine, ashes and time.

River curls into him immediately, draping strong limbs over his and stealing kisses that he would give freely. She fits perfectly against him, her hair and dress engulfing him until they are one creature, tangled up together. "The music's plenty loud enough, unless I scream."

The Doctor cannot resist responding to her taunting tone. He has always been utterly helpless to resist his wife, even when he was younger and made a show out of trying. "Is that a challenge?"

His fingers edge under her knickers to drag through the wetness he finds there. River arches into his hand unashamedly, biting her lip to stifle the sound that wants to escape. Her hands slip under his shirt, nails scraping gently across his skin, and the Doctor shivers under her touch.

River's already unbuttoning him, working her way down, fingers grazing skin deliberately. A ragged groan escapes him and River smirks. "You were saying, sweetie?" When he moves as if to pull away, she grabs his wrists and keeps his hands where she wants them.

He meets River's eyes and deliberately lets his voice turn to a low rumble. "You're dripping." His fingers continue to tease, gliding through her slick skin.

River moans, eyes fluttering closed. But she matches him, her leg hitching up over his hip as her hands finish with his cuffs and slide up his arms. "I've wanted this all night." His own words shot back at him, River's voice deliberately raw with need.

"Even with the running and the flames?"

"Oh, especially then," River winks and teases, "you know I love a dragon."

The Doctor can't help the thrill of excitement at her words. He tugs her knickers farther down with his other hand, but there's not much room to maneuver pressed so close together. They're really wearing far too many clothes. "Naughty girl."

River's lips close over the pulse point at his neck with a delighted hum of agreement. His fingers press harder in response - all he wants now is to see her come undone. He slides one finger inside her in long, slow strokes, while his thumb slips across her clit. He lets his fingers speak for him, filthy Gallifreyan circled into her throbbing skin.

River bites down, muffling her pleasure into his skin as her hands sneak between them to run across his chest and side, her fingers dancing over all the spots that make him gasp. Her thigh trembles against him and he knows she's close, her fingers clenching at his undone collar as she drags him in for a wet, gasping kiss.

He runs his free hand up her side, lingering over the exposed swell of her breasts before he tangles it in her hair, pressing her closer. He pumps another finger inside her, curling them in faster strokes until he feels her muscles tense and clench around him.

River flies apart with a shriek that she feeds into his mouth, her whole body shuddering through her orgasm.

They trade softer kisses until her breathing steadies. The Doctor rests his hand at the crease of her thigh, fingers diving amongst her wetness in soft, teasing strokes.

River's thigh tightens around his hip, and he finds himself sprawled out on his back before he even realizes that she is rolling them. He frees his hand from between them, tracing patterns on her skin under her skirts. "You have me at your mercy, Doctor Song. What do you plan to do with me?"

She gives him a heavy-lidded look, her palms resting on his bare chest, just over his hearts. "So many things, Doctor. But first - I do believe you promised to get me out of this dress."

The Doctor swallows, hard. When he'd first suggested dinner and she'd emerged from the wardrobe in that dress - well, he'd been hard-pressed not to have it off her that second. His hands move eagerly to the heavy lacings at its back, undoing them with Time Lord dexterity and a certain hard-fought familiarity with River's wardrobe. "Your wish is my command, dear."

River bites her lip to hide her smile, her hands tracing along his neck and jaw. When her fingers brush over his lips, he sweeps out his tongue to wrap around them. She hums before pulling back. "And what did I do to deserve all this?"

"Well, you did rescue the dragon."

River's giggle is cut short as he pries apart her corset and tugs her dress off over her head. River's eyes are still glowing and soft, and he thinks she had a bit too much wine after all. Not that it matters when she's almost naked above him and looking like she intends to devour him whole.

The Doctor lets her undress him painfully slowly, each touch deliberately designed to drive him mad. Her hands and mouth trace along every inch of skin she reveals, an agonizing drag of pleasure against sensitive nerve-endings. When she slides down his body to tug his pants off with her teeth, the Doctor has to fist his hands in the bedding to keep from reaching out for her.

River rewards him by shimmying out of her abused knickers and crawling back up the bed to slip under the heavy, silken covers. He is frozen for a moment, suddenly wondering whose bed, exactly, this is, and maybe they shouldn't - "River, I-"

"Come to bed, sweetie. As flattering as it is to watch you look, you do have permission to touch." River arches one eyebrow and tugs pointedly at the coverlet he's on top of.

His concerns scatter and he finds himself scrambling after her eagerly. The heavy blanket swallows them up and she shines just as brilliantly against the gold as he'd envisioned. "I'd much rather touch."

He hovers next to her, his hands skimming up her sides - nipping in at her waist and dancing across her ribs. River arches into him, giggling, unusually ticklish, and the Doctor grins wide, suddenly focused on his task.

River laughs until she is nearly breathless, and then she hauls him over her by his ears. "Not exactly what I meant, Doctor," she grumbles as she proceeds to snog him senseless.

River is the perfect contradiction - yielding and demanding all at once. Her body opens under his even as her legs and arms tighten around him, dragging him closer. Their hips tilt toward one another, reaching and coming together. They've no need for words - their bodies know one another as simply as breathing.

The Doctor lowers himself down on his elbows, his arms bracketing River's as his hands cup her face and hers slide from his ears through his hair. The Doctor exhales a soft sigh against River's lips as the blissful silken heat of her grips and guides him inside her.

Their skin is flushed and glowing already and against the backdrop of gold, it almost feels like regenerating. Wrapped up in River Song, the Doctor would die happily. With River it always feels like the first time, the only time - one singular moment of unparalleled bliss in the universe.

They move in slow, unhurried, luxurious strokes that leave him seated so deep inside her that his eyes roll back and he never wants to leave her warmth again. They cling to each other, lips as entwined as the rest of them until a warning twinge in his lungs signals an imminent respiratory bypass and forced them to part for breath. Even then, they stay nose to nose, breathing one another in. River's tongue brushes his lips when she licks her own. Hot rivulets of sweat slide between their joined bodies, overheated from exertion and the heavy coverings.

River wiggles and arches against him, keening, trying to get him to move faster. The Doctor presses kisses to her temple and holds his slow, deep pace, even as River's nails drag across his scalp and shoulders. They are too often in a rush - honestly, they might both have a _tiny _bit of a kink for nearly getting caught - and they don't spend nearly enough time tangled in bed together. Even if it's not their own bed, the Doctor is making love to his wife, and he is going to savor every moment. He wants this exact point in space-time to stretch and loop and _last_.

River's heels dig into his bum, impatient. "Doctor," his name sounds like a curse in her frustration.

"Shh, I've got you," he soothes, pressing glancing kisses to River's soft lips, jaw, neck.

River huffs a sigh against his lips, but she gives in uncharacteristically easily, her hands and heels relaxing against him, even as her breath comes in pants and her hips arch against his steady thrusts.

The Doctor kisses every part of her he can reach, wrapped up as they are, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks and fingers tangling in her hair. When he finally rocks his hips faster, it's with the same deep strokes. Every time his body meets River's he finds himself loath to part from her, from the engulfing vibrancy that is River, even as pleasure centers where they're joined.

"Sweetie, please, I need-" River's hands slide across his back, clutching at him, her body arching up to meet his every stroke with a soft sound of pleasure.

The Doctor raises his head to find her eyes. "River. I know," and presses her hard into the soft bed beneath them with every stroke.

He swallows her moans as their hips snap faster, each stroke setting them ablaze. The Doctor tilts his hips slightly and River trembles against him as his abdomen presses hard against her clit with each thrust.

Their bodies say all the words that their lips never do as he pulls back to watch her come apart. He can see her walls falling open. River cants her hips against his, eyes soft and open, and he can read his own emotion reflected there - both their defenses peeled back, leaving them exposed and needy - soothing each other with the steady rock of their bodies. Her eyes widen and her mouth parts in a soft _o_. The Doctor delves his tongue through the gap and hers meets his eagerly.

Her arms wrap around his neck, tight, as his thumbs stroke her cheek. Her hearts are racing against his chest. When she blooms and shatters under him the brilliance of her lost amongst the gold is seared into his hearts. River arches and tightens around him, somehow pressing him just that much closer, deeper. It is almost too much, and his eyes flutter shut against his will, his whole body tight and aching with pleasure as he thrusts through her orgasm, dragging it out with hard strokes until he can hold back no longer. He murmurs her name into her throat, hair, lips, _River, River, River_, and her name has always meant so much more - the feeling echoing under every utterance.

They collapse together, sweaty and trembling, mouths still wrapped in a languid kiss. His fringe is plastered to his forehead, and River tenderly brushes it back. Her curls are a rioting halo of tangled golden locks.

When they finally part - hastily pushing off the hot, heavy blankets suffocating them - the bright glare of the rest of the universe abruptly filters back in. River smirks up at him, taking in the room, "And whose bed have you shagged me in this time, Doctor?"

The Doctor huffs and sputters and glances around hastily to make sense of their surroundings. He rolls off River reluctantly, sitting up and tasting the air around them. "You say that like it was my idea."

River rifles through the bedside drawers, "You had me up against the door, sweetie. Ooh, the Prince's bedchambers? Hardly an accident after Napoleon and Caesar."

The Doctor feels heat rush to his cheeks and curses River's ability to make him sound like little more than a dirty old man. And with her, he rather is, really - but he can't help the way he enjoys seeing her pressed against the beds of queens. She's his queen, after all, and the universe is their kingdom. And they really had better get a move on before the servants come through. "Yes, well. Maybe we should get dressed before the Prince decides he's tired of dancing."

"It would hardly do to spend the rest of the ball locked in the dungeon," River agrees with a knowing shrug as she stops riffling through the royal effects, slipping out of the bed and toward her discarded clothing.

As they quickly dress, he watches River's guard click neatly back into place, her walls and masks wrapped tightly around her - the shield of River Song's persona. He recognizes it easily, watches her don her River mask the way he plays at the Doctor. He doesn't blame River - he, more than anyone, knows how much there is to hide. But some part of him, quickly covered, does ache at the contrast from the woman who married him and killed him with tears of love in her eyes.

The Doctor shakes off his more melancholy thoughts as he moves to lace her corset. It's for the best. He cannot bear to gaze at her for too long for fear of burning under her light and she musn't see what lurks in his shadows.

That thought is not much better. His mind is full of pocket universes, ghost stories and love stories and he's determined to hold onto the hope rather than the loss. The Doctor tugs River back into him, enjoying the warmth of her skin through the layers of their clothing, and they finish dressing trading kisses and bumping into each other with the practiced flirtatiousness that comes so easily.

River's hair is completely unmanageable, her lips swollen and the smudge of soot ground deeper into her skin and marred with red, recent splotches. The Doctor doubts his appearance is any less disheveled, especially when River giggles and licks her thumb before swiping soot off his nose.

They take the time to tug the bed something to rights, and the Doctor discretely pockets River's knickers, feigning innocence when she glances his way. River helps herself to the Prince's personal bar, pouring a glass with no remorse at all. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Doctor. I left the jewelry."

He can't help but snort at that, not even half as stern as he really ought to be. This is usually where they would race back to the TARDIS and he would have to drop her back at Stormcage, but he cannot bear to let her go yet. So he catches River's hips and presses her back into a low table, crowding her and losing himself in the feel of her.

It is not until there is a purposefully loud cough that the Doctor glances around and realizes that the servants - and guards - have finally appeared. He springs back from River, blushing. "Oh, hello. Fancy seeing you here."

They stare at him blankly. Finally, one of the guards points his ceremonial sword at them and deadpans, "Trespassing in the Prince's chambers is forbidden."

The Doctor flushes and hurries to explain. "Trespassing? No, no. We were just headed to our room - exhausted from the dragon, you know - and got a bit turned around by the dynasty vases, er, that is, not that we - well, never mind all that."

The guard looks thunderous. "You broke the vase? The punishment for vandalism is death. And the punishment for trespassing is... death."

The Doctor blinks and scrambles to come up with a quick solution, his mind racing away from him in a hundred different directions. "Death. That's a bit final. Properly final, a death sentence. The vase was an accident, and you really ought to lock these doors so that people can't just stumble in here and get sentenced to death!" The guard does not appear to be listening at all, and the others are flanking the exit. "We did just rescue the dragon from the tower though, so surely there must be some leniency for deeds in service of the kingdom. It is our ball, after all."

The guard takes a menacing step forward, the others flanking the exit.

The Doctor gulps and turns to hiss at River out of the side of his mouth, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

River just sips her wine nonchalantly. "Why would I, sweetie, when you're doing such an excellent job?" But River's hand taps her bigger-on-the-inside clutch where her blaster is concealed.

Right. The Doctor tweaks his bowtie, marches up to the guard and rests his elbow on his iron-plated shoulder. "So. There's really no need to get the Prince involved, since we're such good pals. What's a broken priceless antique and a bit of trespassing between pals, that's what I always say..."

...

The Doctor plops down onto the earthen floor and glares at the thick mossy stones to his left. It's a proper dungeon, which would normally actually be a bit exciting. He wonders what species of moss grows down here and whether - no. No. He's too cross to appreciate the dungeon. He glares harder at the offending stones. "This is all your fault."

"My fault!" River's voice is loud and incredulous. Hardly as muffled as it should be from the other side of the rock wall, given that the front bars of their adjacent cells are open to the air. Excellent acoustics in dungeons - probably designed that way to drive their occupants mad.

He scuffs his toe in the dirt and fights the urge to pace. "Yes."

"Sweetie, you're the one who manhandled me off the dance floor and into -"

He quickly interrupts before River can remind him of exactly how he'd handled her. "You started it, with that dress and the dancing and - don't you laugh at me when I'm cross, River Song."

"Oh Doctor, I always laugh at you when you're cross." Her voice sounds entirely too fond as she says that. "Now, are you going to come up with a daring plan to rescue us from the gallows, my love?"

"Apparently, my plans are rubbish. Since this is all my fault."

"Mmm. So you're just going to sit there pouting, then?" River sighs wistfully, "I can think of better ways to spend our night than separate jail cells. I'm hardly so homesick for Stormcage that I need the reminder."

The Doctor flushes - no the plan had hardly been to spend the night separate - and then sobers at the mention of the Stormcage. Right. Plan. He can come up with a plan. It's a primitive dungeon. If only he had his sonic. The Doctor heaves himself to his feet, dusts off his trousers, and turns to regard the open metal bars and solitary guard posted in front of them.

River Song is leaning casually on the wall opposite his cell, the keys dangling from one hand and his sonic in the other. She's watching him with an open leer.

The Doctor averts his gaze quickly. "It's not nice to gloat, dear," he huffs, cross that she's beat him to the escape, again. "Not all of us are so practiced at breaking out of jail cells."

"Lucky for you that I am, considering how often you find yourself in one," River returns, stalking right up to the bars but making no move to unlock them. "What's my reward for rescuing you?"

The Doctor reaches through the bars without hesitation, dragging River until she is flush against them. One hand slides up to her jaw, angling her between the bars of the cell so that he can lean forward and brush his mouth against hers. He presses soft, chaste kisses against River's lips until her hands wrap in his hair and drag him forcibly closer. The cell bars press between them as her mouth opens and plunders his. He is more than willing.

River makes a possessive noise against his lips before releasing him. The Doctor nips kisses down her jaw and neck, and then the door is grinding open and he has no choice but to step back.

River slips through the gap immediately, walking the Doctor backwards until the backs of his knees hit the rough stone bench hewed into the side of the cell. River shoves him down and climbs onto his lap, her skirts bunching around them. His arms immediately move to embrace her, tugging her closer while they trade glancing kisses.

Her hands slide purposefully down his chest and stomach, and then she is reaching between them to undo his trousers. The Doctor groans softly when River's hands free his cock. He's hard again - how could he not be, with a lapful of warm, wriggling River? They can never get enough of each other - he'll never get enough of her.

He barely has time to marvel at the feel of her soft hands against him before she's shifting in his lap and the head of his cock is brushing against her slick wetness. He lets out a strangled moan that might be her name - fleetingly remembering that her knickers are tucked away in his pocket - and then River sinks down, enveloping him in her blissful heat.

The Doctor struggles to catch his breath as River's hips begin a fluid roll over his. His head thumps back against the rough stone wall and River makes a soft keening noise as she arches above him.

One of his hands immediately moves to cover her mouth, muffling her pleasure-tinged gasps and moans. They're still in a dungeon and noise is designed to echo on these walls. Though the Doctor rather doubts these were the kinds of screams the architect had in mind.

River's tongue darts out to sweep across his palm, and the Doctor's eyes fly open. He bites his lip against any sound that might want to escape and his other arm tightens across her lower back, dragging her closer.

Holding his gaze, River arches back, her mouth dragging across his palm until she can wrap her tongue around his first two fingers and suck them into her mouth, humming softly around the digits.

She matches the motions of her tongue with the rise of her hips over his until the Doctor has to toss his head back against the wall again or risk losing control over himself. The dull pain is little help against the rising tide of pleasure rushing out across his body.

The Doctor surges forward with a low sound that comes out almost as a growl, sliding his lips across River's exposed cleavage in deliberately slow strokes. River shivers against him as his hand splays across her back to arch her into him at a new angle, thrusting to meet her downward strokes and drive himself deeper.

River tears her mouth free, gasping for breath. Her fingers curl into his shoulders, digging in through layers of cloth. The heat is building in urgency between them with every roll of her hips.

The Doctor sits up, capturing River's lips in a kiss that is far from chaste, his hands moving to her hips to press her closer. River shudders on her downward stroke, her teeth closing over his lip. He grins, knowing that this angle rubs that still sensitive bundle of nerves perfectly as she grinds down against him.

River's thighs tremble against his, and the Doctor meets her thrusts hard, driving his hips up as she takes him in. His hands clench at her hips, pulling her down almost immediately after she rises above him, a rhythm of short, deep strokes - a sharp contrast to earlier.

Their teeth bump and tongues tangle through soft whimpers and groans that they can do little to suppress. The Doctor rolls his hips under River's, just altering the angle until his cock strikes that perfect spot and River comes apart over him, her whole body shuddering and her moan still masked by his mouth.

He's terribly close, but he wants just a little more. His hips drive up harder, and River meets him, her rhythm barely faltering even as her muscles tremble and flutter against him, around him. He doesn't give River any time to come down, keeping his strokes pressing against that spot while her clit grinds between them. He tugs her lip into his mouth and kisses away her high, keening moans.

The pleasure is tightening through him, coalescing into a hot ball of need where they're joined. The Doctor wraps his arms around River, her heaving breasts crushed between them, their bodies rocking faster. He's straining toward her and he just wants to be closer, deeper, to somehow press them so tightly together that they merge.

River's hands tangle in his hair, her mouth demanding against his, and then she's shattering around him. Her whole body goes taut, clutching him, her lips desperate against his own, and it's enough to drag the Doctor over the edge with her, his grunt muffled into her mouth.

He slumps back against the rough wall, and River follows him, nestling her head into the crook of his neck while his hands stroke across the ties of her bodice as they bask in the warm afterglow.

"River?" His voice is low and rough, and the Doctor has to swallow and lick at his lips before continuing. River presses her lips lightly against his neck, making a low sound of acknowledgement. "Wasn't there a guard?"

River's answering laughter is beautiful.

...

When they eventually make it out of the cell, more than a little muddy and not entirely to sorts, the Doctor finds the missing guard, neatly incapacitated and trussed up inside River's cell. She does rather prefer to leave her calling card. "River!"

"What? Oh, he'll be fine. Stop fussing."

The Doctor shakes his head, far too fondly, and laces his fingers through River's as they wander across the dark palace grounds. They should probably be more worried about someone noticing them, but the moons are hidden behind clouds, and most of the palace is either still dancing or busy sleeping off the assorted festivities.

They manage to reach the TARDIS without incident. Well, if the Doctor doesn't count slipping over that stone and dragging them both nearly into the moat, which he doesn't. His hand hovers over the TARDIS door, voice low, "Where to, Doctor Song?"

River smirks and dances out of his reach as she holds up her wrist with her vortex manipulator - he won't ask how she got it on without him noticing. "Thanks for the offer, sweetie, but I've got my own ride home."

He frowns. "I thought you didn't -" he makes a sweeping gesture to her hair.

Smiling, River sways closer, straightening his bowtie fondly. "My hair is already beyond rescue thanks to _someone_," she muses, their faces inches apart, "and you have no intention of taking me home."

He blushes and makes a noise of protest, but River's right. They've not exactly managed to keep their hands off each other yet. And perhaps he did have one or two or twenty more adventures in mind. "Tired," he teases instead.

His hands circle loosely around River's waist, and she lets her body melt into him with an easy hum. "Utterly exhausted," but she's smirking as she says it. "I need sleep before you can feed me more wine and drag us into further trouble."

The Doctor pulls back, incredulous, even as his hand sweeps up to tuck an unruly lock of her hair behind her ear, just to watch it spring back again a second later. "Oh, I'm the one causing trouble, am I? I'm not the one who broke the Prince's favorite antique."

"It was only a little vase," River shrugs unrepentantly, reaching around him to crack the TARDIS door open and already keying coordinates into her vortex manipulator.

The Doctor leans forward and catches her smirking lips in a proper snog before she can go on to innumerate his sins.

When they part, he offers, "Yes, well - you try explaining that to the Almesian Prince next time, would you? I can hardly show this face again after escaping the dungeons in the middle of the night!" And after the show the guard heard.

River rolls her eyes as slips into the vortex, and the Doctor finds himself dancing back through the TARDIS doors with a grin.

His coat is splattered with innumerable splotches of mud and other fluids, his hair is flopping unrulily into his eyes, and the Doctor is grinning from ear to ear. He taps out the last few chords of the Almesian Waltz on his thigh as he makes his way toward the console.

He's half a mind to turn right around, but River claims that she needs to sleep - she likely does after all that wine - and Clara will be up soon.

"Who was that?"

The Doctor stops in his tracks, glancing around guiltily. Clara is sitting on the far steps in the console room, dressed in red leaf pajamas and huge fuzzy slippers she's tapping restlessly against the stair below.

The Doctor quickly schools his expression into something neutral. "Who was who?"

Clara props her elbows on her knees and gives him a no-nonsense look and a slight eye roll. "That, whoever you were just talking to outside."

"Oh... that was just a friend..." Clara doesn't seem appeased so he scrambles for something that is not any more of a lie, "Professor Song. Have I mentioned the Professor? Oh, archaeologists - they're all the same. Digging up bits of history and making guesses! Where's the fun in that? All of history is going on right now, right outside. Well, not right outside. There's a cultural revolution going on in the mines of Grechstock in 5443 and a parade crowning a new Grand Leader in Zulu - or, oh! We could go see Queen Elizabeth XIV. I've met all the Liz's, did I tell you? Well, except for IX, but there's a story behind that. Maybe we should try -"

"Doctor!" Clara cuts through his babbling as the Doctor fiddles with console buttons and hopes he's managed to distract her from her original question. "I'm in my pajamas."

The Doctor blinks, takes a breath, and regards her pajamas and slippers. He supposes they're not quite what one usually wears to meet queens, although he's met one or two in considerably less. Not intentionally, mind, but when River gets an idea into her head - "Oh. Why are you in your pajamas?"

Clara goggles at him. "Because it's night," she senses his protest and amends firmly, "or whatever passes for night on this ship. I was in bed."

Adjusting the zig-zag plotter and trying to decide when the best time to stop in on Liz XIV would be, the Doctor takes the opportunity to avoid Clara's eyes. "Well now you're up, so -"

"I was just grabbing a cuppa and remembered I'd left my book in the console room and didn't want to chance it with _her_." Clara offers blithely, if a bit sore at the TARDIS still. It's clearly a challenge: _what's your excuse?_

He musters up a concerned grin and pretends he has no idea what she means. "Right. Well. Off to bed, Clara Oswald. You humans get quite cross when you've not had enough rest."

Clara obediently stands and starts to get up with another roll of her eyes - and he'll never quite get used to her actually listening to him, even if she mocks him while she does so - and then she stops and pins him under her gaze. "Don't you?"

"Don't I what?" He runs his hands through his hair, still frustrated and exhilarated and trying not to let his nerves show - it's just Clara.

Clara gestures at him with her mug. "Rest. Don't you sleep?"

"Clara, I have a spaceship that also travels in time. Why would I sleep?"

Tilting her head to one side, Clara considers this. "So what do you do, then?"

The Doctor fidgets at the console again. The console is a handy prop to fidget with. Sexy always forgives him as long as he doesn't tug on anything too hard. "Nothing. You know - pick up hobbies. Knitting. Quadricycling. Counseling sharks. All the usual."

Clara eyes him suspiciously, but finally she heaves herself to her feet and marches back up the stairs with a colossal yawn for one so small. "Right. I'm going back to bed. Maybe leave the shark counseling until the morning, yeah?"

The Doctor watches her shuffle up the stairs and sags against the console with relief.

He can't discuss River. Not with Clara - not with anyone. He can't say her name aloud unless she's standing next to him to chase away visions of her burning in a spacesuit. To chase away her face at Darillium. To chase away the aching, miserable sense of loss ever since he handed her his sonic and signed her death warrant.

The Doctor does not look back. He cannot. So many lives on his hands. But when River is gone, she is all he can think about. She fills his thoughts and his ship until he can see her ghost everywhere he turns. He tells himself that it's not a ghost story, but a love story. But that brief flash of elation he felt upon that revelation is fading into her memory. To speak her name - to acknowledge that she's died - that her timeline has come full circle with his... he wanted to share new lifetimes and faces with her. The pain of it eats at him in a way he'd thought he was long past feeling.

It's only their nights together than keeps him slogging forward. Moments where she is so alive in his arms that he runs with her, toward her, and the shadow of her death loosens its grip from his throat and hearts until he feels like he can breathe again.

But she's getting younger, the Rivers he meets on rare, treasured adventures. A Doctor again, back at Stormcage. And he dares not ask her how long into her sentence she is, for fear that soon she will slip away from him completely, slip back into the silence and shadows, and he will be left with only her shade for comfort.

The TARDIS hums consolingly and the Doctor blinks away the tears that have gathered in his eyes. He refuses to mourn her, not with the mystery of Clara demanding to be unraveled. The girl who died twice. It has to be a trap - the universe or the Silence or something too horrible to name, getting his hopes up when he has almost none left. He watched River die. But he watched Clara die too, and she is here, traipsing through his ship.

He just has to solve this one last mystery and then he can shake away the shadows and ghosts that plague him.

The first thing he'll do, he decides, is take River waltzing.


End file.
